#181 Chippie

So I was watching TV last night. They played a commercial for a new dog locating and/or identifying device. I’m guessing it’s the latter but I’m sure the former is just around the corner. It was an injectable identification chip for your dog. The commercial dealt with how “4 out of 6 dogs run away” or some such statistic, and how collars fall off and how if you only injected this chip in their shoulder they’d be safe. Naturally, the first thought that came to my mind was: Jeez, they got a chip small enough to inject? Can I get one for my kids? A little GPS homing unit where I could find them at a moments notice? I get that call from them: “I’m over at Teddy’s and I’ll be an hour late” and I hit my send-back GPS and, hmm, what a surprise, they’re at the mall. Yeah, great idea, take your kid in for a physical and have the doc inject a chip in ‘em and tell ‘em it’s a tetanus booster or steroids or something.
Then I realized something. The technology already exists. Microchips are everywhere for these kids. From Hippie to Chippie in one generation. Every kid that has a cellphone has a GPS unit in it and the potential to be located via that unit—kind of an Onstar for your teenager.
So is there a place where parents could sign up when they start, say, the family plan? Do you want Teenstar, Sir? You bet, and some extra “whenever” minutes. And I get the new Razor phone. Little Billy gets to use the old clunker. Hey, I’m paying for this thing. He wants a Razor he can get a job and earn one.
Little will Billy know that his clunker contains a GPS homing device. I’ll be able to track him, or at least his pants, anywhere. Yeah. This will be even better than the V-Chip I never enabled on my TV. Oh yeah, right. Okay, maybe I’ll just trust them. Okay, I’m lazy. Okay, I’m too stupid or blind to read, much less comprehend, the fine technical print in the phone’s owners manual. Cripes, my kid will probably be tracking me. Quick clean up the beer, Dad’s just four blocks from home...
So maybe the injectable chip idea is the thing to pursue. But still, locating my teenagers in a Big Brother sort of way does scare me. Holding this bone out to worried parents kind of opens the door for the uber-police to track everyone, everywhere. But again. I like the idea of saying, with a secret smile: Yeah, my teenager has a chip on his shoulder.
America, ya gotta love it.